Qui finem quaeris amoris, Cedit amor rebus; res age, tutus eris. - Ovid

While she thus spoke night came on, most potent healer of our cares; and with the darkness her boldness grew.

Heu quantum scelus est in viscera viscera condi
ingestoque avidum pinguescere corpore corpus
alteriusque animans animantis vivere leto!
Scilicet in tantis opibus, quas, optima matrum,
terra parit, nil te nisi tristia mandere saevo
vulnera dente iuvat ritusque referre Cyclopum,
nec, nisi perdideris alium, placare voracis
et male morati poteris ieiunia ventris!

Let your mistress’s birthday be one of great terror to you:
that’s a black day when anything has to be given.
However much you avoid it, she’ll still win: it’s
a woman’s skill, to strip wealth from an ardent lover.
A loose-robed pedlar comes to your lady: she likes to buy:
and explains his prices while you’re sitting there.
She’ll ask you to look, because you know what to look for:
then kiss you: then ask you to buy her something there.
She swears that she’ll be happy with it, for years,
but she needs it now, now the price is right.
If you say you haven’t the money in the house, she’ll ask
for a note of hand – and you’re sorry you learnt to write.
Why - she asks doesn’t she for money as if it’s her birthday,
just for the cake, and how often it is her birthday, if she’s in need?
Why - she weeps doesn’t she, mournfully, for a sham loss,
that imaginary gem that fell from her pierced ear?
They many times ask for gifts, they never give in return:
you lose, and you’ll get no thanks for your loss.
And ten mouths with as many tongues wouldn’t be enough
for me to describe the wicked tricks of whores.